Death of Tomorrows
by srusse87
Summary: 2x1 Duo's come back from a mission and is aboard Peacemillion watching Heero from the shadows. Warning small lemon, though nothing explicit.


Disclaimer: The complete DVD set of Gundam Wing does not an owner make. Alas.

Brief author's note: I wrote this for The Vault's summer challenge but never told them. Thought I'd finally drag it off my computer and share it with everyone. Anyway, I can't post the lyrics, though the point of the challenge was not to use them in the story anyway. I used_ In The Shadows _by Rasmus as a basis for the plot.

**Death of Tomorrows**

A coded exchange was recorded. Two Oz pilots chatting amongst the stars as they waited for their next orders.

"_The food gets shittier each day."_

"_I know what you mean. They don't tell you about this shit when you sign up. Break shifts are getting shorter too."_

"_Lost Jake from Alpha 5 unit. Fucking gundams. You hear they're just kids?"_

"_I figure it's just a trick, trying to milk the public's sympathy. You think you could pilot one of these as a kid?"_

"_Word's out you got a hot date tomorrow. Fine piece of ass."_

"_Yeah well if I'm lucky, tomorrow it'll be my piece of ass."_

Time counted in breaths and the sweep of a scythe; the airwaves were silent. Once again, nothing recorded but dead space.

* * *

There are very few shadows in space. Night and day lose their meaning and time becomes something fluid and flexible. I don't know what time it is, unless I check my watch. Our world has narrowed to the few moments of rest we can catch before the call comes for us to go out and battle again. This is one of those 'rest' times.

But I'm not sleeping in my berth like Quatre, or meditating like Wufei. Nor am I even sitting quietly in front of a port window observing the void that is space, as Trowa is doing.

I am in fact, watching Heero work on his gundam. He doesn't know I'm here; one of the few shadows created aboard Peacemillion is providing me with plenty of cover to disappear in. There is something about watching Heero that affords me a measure of tranquility I can't seem to find on my own.

I'm not sure why I'm so drawn to him. I've hardly even spoken to the guy and the few times I have; we haven't exactly had a conversation of any great interest. I've always just felt a certain tie to him, a tie which caused me to stop by briefly and warn him before leaving the last school we stayed at together. A tie which seemed to understand that Heero would be the one to come kill me and then save me. A tie that finds me here, under the cover of dusty darkness, watching him tinker with his gundam, when I should be sleeping or resting, or really doing _anything _other then this.

I watch him and I wait, though I'm not sure for what. All I know is somewhere my answers lie in Heero.

More time passes by and I continue to watch. The tilt of a head, the fall of bangs, the play of muscles under that tank top he prefers to wear. Occasionally he mutters something and makes another adjustment on the small computer that rests next to him.

For some reason I'm still restless. There is pressure building up inside me and it doesn't have anything to do with the thought of our next battle. I am Shinigami. I suit up and go out, dancing my waltz of death and destruction. So far we haven't met anything that I felt greatly threatened my life. Mobile dolls are nothing more then puppets with cut strings. High aspiring Pinnochios in shiny metal shells.

Yet I am still on edge. Voices of two men echo, as the devil in my soul snarls and taunts them back. A silent mania is expanding in my chest and a wicked smile crosses my face.

Without thought, without breath, without sound, I step out of my shadow and look up at Heero. He glances down and narrows his eyes and I mock him with my smile.

"You should be resting."

I smile wider and stalk closer to where he is perched at the base of Wing, noting that he has started a diagnostic scan of the systems.

"Kettle, meet pot."

He scowls at me, but I'm there in his space, pushing past him to lean against the leg of his gundam, arms crossed.

"I'm not interested in resting."

The pressure in me coils and tightens in a surge that explodes into a predatory smile. One with teeth and intent.

Tonight isn't time for peace and tranquility. I've dealt too much violence lately, bathed in too much blood. Killed too many people to find ease in even Heero's calming presence. I want to know that I'm alive.

I've danced with death; now I want to play with fire.

Heero is watching me, reading me, and I can see the understanding in his eyes. Slowly he reaches over and taps a few commands into the computer, locking it into its current task.

I am death and I stalk life. Yet as Heero's eyes seer into mine, I no longer know who is the predator and who is prey, all I know is I burn.

The trip to his berth disappears from memory.

Teeth meet lips; calloused fingers grab shoulders and clench tightly. Hips rock together and grind, breathing becomes loud and harsh in the silence.

His lips are warm but not pliant, a tongue is forced in my mouth and I try to swallow him whole. Clothes are ripped off and the rough blanket on the bunk offers no comfort. A hand skims up my thigh and circles me, the room which was cool before, suddenly becomes hot.

There are groans as we slide and grind, friction eased by sweat. Hair is pulled, nails scratch, I feel him inside and climb with it. The higher you fly, the farther you fall. This is the dance of life with death.

He shudders and my mind shatters and then we crash.

Piece by piece, the world settles. The smell of sweat and sex fills the small room.

Before he gets up to wash off, I tell him. "There are no tomorrows here."

He agrees.


End file.
